Halcyon
by Raincatcher13
Summary: Arthur Kirkland was murdered. Nobody knows why or how, but what Arthur himself knows more than anything is that he must condemn his killer before his family chooses the innocent. UsUK, other pairings. AU. [Formerly Broken Memories - England's Case]
1. The Last Day

Halcyon║The Last Day

A/N- Why am I writing all of these death stories? I'm really sorry guys, I'll aim for something more cheerful next time! Anyways, I'm sorry to say this but after I read this really good book (which is a tiny bit like this story), I found out an acquaintance of mine was feeling suicidal. I'm going to shut up now. I hope this story is okay.

* * *

Arthur Kirkland.

London is a huge town, so say that name over there and probably ninety-nine point nine nine nine (you get the point) people will say, "Sorry, who?"

_I'm_ Arthur Kirkland. I died on September 29th, a cold, rainy, bitter day.

Since London is such a big town, murder happens. It's not _common, _of course, but enough of them happen every year so it'd be pretty hard to remember a list of all the dead ones. I'm still not sure why I died, exactly.

I had little siblings to take care of- Peter and Kaelin.

I'm sure you're all a little confused. So let me back up, back way up.

The last day of your life, at least my life, was not special. It was not extraordinary. I didn't wake up worried, I didn't see shadowy figures. The last day of my life went a little bit like this:

"What would you like for breakfast?"

"Where's Mum?" Peter has a stuffed mint green bunny that used to be mine clutched one fist. He was using the other hand to rub his eyes.

"Don't do that, Peter. It damages your sight." I pour myself some coffee. Black, like my soul. No. Just kidding. That's not funny.

"Iggy, can I have coffee?" Kaelin jumps up on the kitchen table and starts trying to dance.

"No, get back down," I say, trying to sound stern and not crack a smile.

"But Iggy! You said"-

"I said you can have coffee when you start acting like a _responsible adult- _and that means no dancing on the table." I poke her in the stomach and she giggles, jumping off the table and landing softly on the kitchen tile floor.

Peter grabs my backpack. "Hey, Jerkface! I'll even get this for"- He trips and papers of mine go flying everywhere. "Oops." His face goes red and he scrambles around, shoving things haphazardly back into random binders.

I sigh. "No, Peter. Let me do this, okay? Eat some of the eggs I cooked."

Peter wrinkles his nose. "I don't want any. You make yours taste all weird. I want Mum's. Hers actually taste edible."

I shrug. "Okay, fine, get the cafeteria breakfast."

Peter grabs an egg. "Suddenly this looks a lot better."

I laugh. Peter's twelve and Kaelin's seven. Mum is never home much, so I'm stuck taking care of these two. They're pretty good siblings, though, and I've nothing to complain about.

Kaelin hugs me. "Bye-bye."

I ruffle her hair. "No, no. I'll walk you to school."

She coughs. "But you'll be late."

"It's okay." I shrug. "College can wait. But we won't ever make it to your school if Peter doesn't hurry up and get dressed!" I sigh and wrap a gray scarf around my neck, grabbing my mug of coffee. Peter takes the hint and scurries up to his room, leaving Mint Bunny on the table.

"Why don't you live at college?" Kaelin asks, gnawing on her bagel.

I pause. "Well, I live off campus."

"But why don't you leave?"

"Leave?" I crouch down to her level. "I have to take care of you and Peter, silly!"

"If Peter and I didn't exist, would you live on campus?"

"Why are you asking?" I wonder, standing back up. "Is something wrong?"

"No," she says, chewing on her lip. I think she's smarter than I was at the age of seven. I know something's wrong, but I choose to ignore it for now. "When is Mum coming home?"

"Oh." I blink. "Sorry, Kaelin. I don't know this time."

"What if she leaves us for a week again?" Kaelin sniffles.

"She won't," I say. I turn towards the doorway. "Peter, hurry up!"

"I can't find my pants!" comes the muffled reply. I sigh and shake my head.

"You won't leave, Iggy, will you?" Her eyes are wide, large eyebrows arched high above her head, and I fight the urge to laugh. She always gets really focused on things, like once Peter made up this story and told her she was born in the North Pole and raised by polar bears and she got so upset she wouldn't eat for a day.

"Nope. I'm staying right here."

"You promise?"

I laugh and hold out my pinky. "Pinky promise."


	2. The Meadow

Halcyon║The Meadow

When I died, I went somewhere. I don't know if it's heaven or what, I have no clue, but there's anything and everything I could want.

In fact, I can go inside my own house, but I can't interact with anyone. I can see what the weather is like in London, I can stand in the rain, I can go to my college campus.

Mostly, though, I like to hang out in the street outside of my college- people are always walking by, carrying umbrellas, and a row of festive-looking stores with decorated windows line the road across. Trees arch over the entrance, forming a sort of entryway, and vibrant-colored leaves swirl on the wet, gray pavement.

I can go anywhere I want. Before I died, I was saving up enough money for a trip to Spain. Now I can just _want _to go there, and I will be there. I can will myself to my cousin's house in the United States. I stand on the summit of Mount Everest without an oxygen tank, without having to climb. I can go on the Eiffel Tower. It's all fun, but I want to be real and living again.

Or I can hang out in The Meadow. The Meadow is a place, and it's not on earth, that's filled with grass of every color, but soft grass, grass that doesn't poke you or make you itchy. It's soft and perfect. There are flowers of every type imaginable, daisies and sunflowers, roses and dandelions. Every color, every size, flowers I can't identify. The edges of The Meadow are surrounded by huge cherry trees that make sweet-smelling pink petals float through the sky. The air holds the faint scent of chocolate.

And there are other places that don't exist on earth, places like the meadow, places where the other dead gather. But I don't know how to talk to them yet.

I can go anywhere I want. It's as easy as that.

I find myself sitting at my kitchen table a week after my death. I like to be here when my family is here, and Mum has been showing up a lot more since I died. Kaelin and Peter and Mum are sitting around the table, too, not aware of my presence. Kaelin's face is tear-stained and Peter's holding the Mint Bunny. He's embarrassed he's twelve and still likes a stuffed animal.

Ivan Braginsky is sitting next to my mother. He's a detective. Sort of. He's really in training or something, I think, just out of college from Russia. I remember Mum fumed and yelled and complained about how didn't they think my murder case should have someone a little more experienced, to which they replied that Mr. Braginsky here is perfectly capable of doing a fine job.

But since Ivan's been so kind, and since he's only a little older than I was, I think my mom feels bad.

"Ms. Kirkland," he says, "was Arthur fighting with anyone? Did he have any enemies?"

"I... I don't know." Mum hangs her head. "Kaelin? Peter?" She knows they would know. She knows she was never around, never there for us.

"No," Peter says, casting a quick glance at Kaelin. This is a lie, and Peter knows it.

"What about"- Kaelin begins, but Peter throws his hand over Kaelin's mouth. "Nope, no!"

Ivan raises an eyebrow. "Children? Do you know something? Did Arthur say anything to you, was he upset at someone? Was someone upset with him?"

"No sir," Kaelin mutters.

"Don't lie," Ivan says soothingly. "It's okay. We are just trying to figure this out, da?"

"Francis," Peter says. "What was his last name, Kae?"

"Bonn... e? Foy? Bonnefoy," she says.

"Francis Bonnefoy," Ivan verifies.

"Yes."

My mother looks alarmed. "The student who's studying abroad from France?"

"What's studying abroad?" Kaelin says.

Mum waves a hand. "Nevermind, sweetie."

Peter is right. I was arguing with Francis Bonnefoy before I died. I would rant about him while I was making dinner. Peter would be watching TV and Kaelin would be sitting on the floor by the couch, reading. I didn't think they were actually paying attention.

But Francis didn't kill me. We were friends. It was just an argument.

"Does Francis go to the same school Arthur did?" Ivan asks.

Kaelin nods. "Yes. Arthur said they were in the same... science class."

She's right. Chemistry. We got in a fight because we did a group project and we got a C-. I don't think it was exactly either of our faults, but we were pretty pissed. Francis kept yelling French curse words at me, which I knew because I had taken French for two years before college, and I was replying with equally rude words in English.

That was two days before I died.

But it wasn't him. We were friends. All friends have arguments, and the severity of this was nowhere near murder- I doubt if you gave Francis a knife he would be able to stab anything.

But I was mad at him, and he was mad at me.

Which I know means Francis will look like a suspect. The victim and he fought just two days earlier.

Don't we all want someone to blame?


	3. Against the Odds

Halcyon║Against the Odds

I haven't checked up on my family in a day, and instead I waste time in The Meadow. I don't want to see what's happening with Francis yet. If they've accused him.

And instead I am hanging out in the classroom I would have class first period in. Familiar faces are seating themselves, chatting in the hall, their voices a low roar. Rain drums on the ceiling, not uncommon in London.

I have to jump out of the way before Natalia Arlovskaya practically _sits _on me. I almost say something until I realize she doesn't see me, won't see me- won't _ever _see me. She could sit on me and she wouldn't know it. She starts chatting with Mei Xiao.

"Who was the guy that picked you up yesterday? Your boyfriend?"

"Oh, no," Natalia says. "That was Ivan Braginsky."

I was starting to focus on other people's conversations, but I jolt back to Natalia and Mei.

"And?" Mei giggles. "Did he ask you out? I mean he looks a little old, but he's still super hot."

Natalia sighs. "Honestly, Mei. He's my stepbrother."

What the hell?!

Mei laughs. "Oh! Well, does he have a girlfriend?"

Natalia rolls her eyes. "I don't know. I'll ask when I get home. But he's only staying over here in London because he's investigating a..." Natalia lowers her voice and glances around. She knows saying 'murder' will cause silence, because I was well known, maybe even loved. If only she knew I was watching her right now!

"You mean," Mei lowers her voice too, "Arthur Kirkland?"

"Yes," she says, returning her voice to normal volume. They could be talking about anything now.

"Do they know who did it?"

"Ivan says it's private. He won't even tell me, but I'm not going to try to pry. I know he's under a lot of stress now."

I turn to face the doorway the moment Francis Bonnefoy walks in.

Natalia must know _something, _though, because she lowers her eyes and looks away.

"It wasn't him!" I scream, but of course nobody hears me. I try to pick up Mei's textbook to chuck it at Natalia's head, to have her listen, so she'll know to tell Ivan it wasn't Francis, but I can't lift it.

I can touch it, wrap my fingers around it, but trying is hopeless. The textbook has no weight, but I can't pick it up. It's like trying to grab air.

Natalia's comments on her stepbrother, Francis and my murder have caught my attention, so I'm looking further into her.

Okay. Her parents are Belarusian, and the first time she met Ivan, she fell in love with him, until she realized- Shit. He's going to be my stepbrother. If I want to know anything, I just have to think of it, and the answer will come to me.

Now if only I could figure out how to interact with the living.

I watch Francis before he goes to bed. Alright, alright, cue the stalker jokes, but I'm dead serious- no pun intended.

He feels guilty about the argument, even though nothing's his fault. And he knows something is wrong. He doesn't know what.

I watch him dig through his closet, pull out a tri-fold. I painted it a deep green color, and Francis used his somewhat artistic abilities to add little decorations and details. The project we got a C on. Overall, I still think it's nice.

"Oh dear," he says. "Good night, Arthur."

"Good night," I reply, but he doesn't know.

Since I don't sleep, I head to Times Square in the United States. It's amusing there- people packed into one area like it's the last dry land in the world, tourists drifting around uncertainly.

That's when I see him.

Shoving through the crowd but not moving anybody, screaming, "Excuse me? Excuse me!"

I walk over to him.

"Dude, this is so weird! Nobody's listening to me."

He can see me. And nobody can see him. Is he dead, too?

"I'm Arthur Kirkland," I say. "Umm... I was- I died on September 29th. In London."

"Oh." He frowns. "I'm sorry?"

"You're dead, too," I say. "What's your name?"

"I- you're creeping me out. Sorry, I don't have time for the likes of you!" He runs off.

Okay, let him run. I trail behind him absent-mindedly, willing myself not to be seen by his eyes. He glances behind him sometimes, seeing I'm not following him, then collapses on a bench.

At that moment, when I'm standing right in front of him, I allow myself to be seen. "Hey."

"HOLY CRAP! I THOUGHT I LOST YOU! GET AWAY FROM ME RIGHT NOW, MAN! I DON'T WANT TO BE APART OF YOUR SICK LITTLE DEATH GAME!"

"Sorry," I say. "It's not like I wanted to be dead, either. Tell me your name."

"Alfred Jones!" he spits out. "I 'died' or whatever shit sometime a little while ago. Some man killed me, okay? Are you happy? What's going on?"

I remember what my mother told me once: that I'm a resourceful kid.

But now, it's not any of my talents that I found someone I can talk to.

It's pure chance, the likelihood of it against the odds.

I sit next to him. "So, Alfred... tell me about your life."

And I come to know Alfred- older brother of Matthew Williams, serious McDonald's lover, American, into American football and baseball and soccer and lacrosse and pretty much so athletic he can beat you in any sport. It only becomes weird when we swap death stories.

He got killed by a man he didn't know. So I show him the Meadow, try to explain to him how to 'teleport' (as cheesy as it sounds). He draws the best picture he can of the man that murdered him.

I feel my blood run cold. "Him?"

Alfred stares at me like I'm stupid. "Nooo, that potato over there."

I throw my hands into the air. "Okay, sorry."

"What's wrong?"

"That's the guy..." I take a shaky breath. "Alfred, that's the guy who killed me."


	4. Radioactive

Halcyon║Radioactive

"Woah! No way! Seriously?" Alfred stares at me, squinting. "So, how did you turn invisible or whatever?"

I frown. This kid must have some ADD or something. "Um, I wanted to."

"You... what?" Alfred squints even more, so much I don't know how he's even seeing.

I repeat, louder, "I said, I _wanted to. _Like, um... where's somewhere you've always wanted to go?"

"Oh, like that? Hmm. Pripyat."

"What? You wanna see the famed ferris wheel or something?"

"No," Alfred says. "Not really. Can you just get on with it?"

"Fine, whatever," I say. "Go ahead."

"Go ahead what?"

"Imagine yourself in Pripyat."

"Um..." He hesitates, unsure. I close my eyes, annoyed at his stupidity, but when I open my eyes, he's not there anymore. Huh. Shows how much you can learn in a week, how much smarter you can be than someone because of a little time of experience.

I laugh and head to Pripyat.

No sense in leaving the poor soul all alone in a place like that.

I see him glancing around, standing in the clearing. "Woaahhh! This is just like Call of Duty!"

"What?" I exclaim. "That's why you wanted to come here?"

"Uhh, wha- no, not really." He shakes his head. "How can you interact with other people?"

"You can't," I say. "But you can see them. Just, like... whatever you want, you can have," I say. "You just have to imagine it. Like how you got here."

"Oh. Well, my brother's girlfriend is from here, and-"

"From _Pripyat? _No, she's not. She couldn't have lived here. No one can."

He brushes hair away from his glasses. "Okay, not _Pripyat,_ but Ukraine. In general."

I snort. Idiot. "Fine, Alfred, about that man that killed us, do you want to talk about it or something?" I change the subject. He doesn't keep it.

Alfred pauses. "Actually, I'm good. You can talk out loud to yourself, though, if it helps. I don't mind."

"You're such an idiot!" I bark out. "That's not what I meant."

"Whatever," Alfred says. "Well, bro, I'm gonna go check on some stuff. Thanks for showing me this place! Bye."

"Wait, don't leave me-" And he's gone.

I pause. I don't like it here in Pripyat, everything's hollow and empty looking, and even though nothing I know of can hurt me, I don't think it's such a good idea to be standing around.

_But where would Alfred go? To his brother? Argghhh, what was his brother's name again- Matthew Williams._

I start thinking of Matthew Williams. Sooo, his girlfriend is Katyusha Braginskaya, and... wait a second.

I dig up information about Katyusha. She's Ukrainian, like Alfred said, but something's not right. There's a little gap in her family tree or whatever, and slowly the pieces fall into place. She's not totally unrelated to me. She's Ivan's... wait, what?

I need to find Alfred. Now.

So when I come to a little (actually, really, really big) cabin in Canada, I'm fairly surprised.

"Shit! Man, how'd you find me?" Alfred is standing by the couch, watching Matthew and so-called Katyusha watch TV. So exciting.

I smile. "Too easy, Alfred. Can we maybe stick together?"

"Fine," Alfred sighs. "Anyways, since you're so smart, I have a question."

I raise an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Lots of people die everyday, right? So why isn't our world filled with the dead? Why is it just us?"

"Sorry," I say. "I don't know. But I, um, have a question for you, now."

"Hmm?"

"Do you know Katyusha's relatives?" I prod her with a finger. Of course, nobody notices.

He pauses for just a second. "Well, I think her parents are pretty normal-ish. Actually, maybe not. She doesn't have any siblings. But there is this guy." He pauses for just a second. "That she used to be in a 'relationship' with. Ivan Braginsky."

"'Relationship'? Why the air quotes?" I ask, feeling my heart skip in excitement. How are they connected?

"She was supposed to be married to him," he says. "Arranged, of course."

"Ahh." I think for a moment. "But how did she get out of it? Plus, don't you think she's way too young? If Matthew is even younger than you, I mean, I know you're in your last year of high school, did you say?"

"I am. And yes, Matthew's a year younger than me. She is way too young to get married." Alfred looks at his feet. "She ran away."

"W-what?"

"You heard me, Brit! She skipped town, caught a plane to New York! And when she came over to where I lived, Matthew happened to be visting in from Canada. He's actually only my half-brother, and we don't live together. And they happened to run into each other! And it was love at first sight!"

"Love at first sight, huh?" I murmur. There are all different kinds of love.

Family love, like the type I share with Mum and Kaelin and Peter. Friendship love, the type of love you have with idiots like Francis Bonnefoy. Romantic love. Katyusha and Matthew.

"Arthur?"

I snap out of my daze. "Sorry. I'm going to go to sleep." Even though I don't need sleep anymore, I can sleep if I want to. "I'll be in that meadow I showed you."

"Hey, wait!"

Too late.


End file.
